


"Like a Fiddle"

by LovelyZelda



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-02
Updated: 2010-05-02
Packaged: 2017-10-09 06:17:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/83923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LovelyZelda/pseuds/LovelyZelda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt from <a href="http://community.livejournal.com/st_xi_kink_meme/profile"><img/></a><a href="http://community.livejournal.com/st_xi_kink_meme/"><b>st_xi_kink_meme</b></a>: <a href="http://community.livejournal.com/st_xi_kink_meme/3516.html?thread=3229628#t3229628">Ambassador Spock really enjoy's McCoy's ass. </a></p><p>To help with the stress in my life, take this anyway you want to.</p><p> </p><p>Ambassador Spock really enjoys McCoy's ass.  McCoy isn't sure if he enjoys it or if he's just being enjoyed.</p><p>Pretty explicit and sketchy, but consensual.  Just the kind of consensual where you wonder what in god's name just happened and if you should try to sneak out before they wake up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	"Like a Fiddle"

McCoy had given absolutely no thought to Vulcan reproductive biology until a Vulcan ambassador from a different universe propositioned him.

And after a Vulcan ambassador from a different universe propositioned him, the only thought he was really giving it was a mix of _Why the hell not?_ and _Are you out of your fucking mind, Leonard?_

"Doctor," Ambassador Spock's fingertips lightly brushed against his temple.  "I would be willing to meld with you if that would--"

"No," said McCoy.  The last thing he wanted was the ambassador up there in his head, scrambling his brains.

The ambassador's fingertips were warm and surprisingly tender for someone who was, essentially, an older pointy-eared bastard.  He tilted McCoy's head up and back and kissed him.  His tongue was as feverishly hot as his hands, and he kissed with a forcefulness that made McCoy wonder just how long he'd been dead in the other universe.

He assumed that's what this was really about, although he couldn't imagine Spock being capable of a genuine warm, decent feeling.  (Flying into an insane rage, sure, and why the hell had he just stood there like he was waiting for Jim to get killed?)

It helped that he didn't really think of the ambassador as another version of Spock--so far the ambassador hadn't left fingerprints in anybody's neck, and McCoy could put up with him long enough to let him slip his warm tongue into his mouth.

_And you don't think he might know just how to get you to put up with you?_ McCoy asked himself as the ambassador slid both hands down McCoy's back.  He sighed through his nose as the much-more-ingratiating Spock grabbed his ass in both hands.  (And oh god if this was their Spock, McCoy needed to find some way to get over to that universe)

_Maybe he never knew me_ McCoy tried to tell himself--and then he moaned as the ambassador squeezed his ass and nibbled on his earlobe with just the right about of bite.

_He knows..._  Another exactly perfect nibble before the ambassador lightly darted his tongue in McCoy's ear.  _He knows, and, boy, he can play you like a fiddle._

_The lyre_ said the part of McCoy's brain that was totally missing the point as the ambassador played with his ear and fondled his ass with even more insistence than before.  _Doesn't he play the Vulcan lyre?_  Which, unlike the fiddle, was played with those long, warm fingers.

"Doctor," the ambassador said low in his ear.  McCoy couldn't believe how much the bastard could fit into one word, but he relaxed against him--and then immediately tensed (in a very good way) as the ambassador kissed his neck.  His hands hadn't left McCoy's ass since they got there, and now he used them to push McCoy up against him.

"I think," McCoy said as the Vulcan pushed their hips together and kissed his neck, "I think you might as well call me--"

"I will continue to call you 'doctor,'" said the ambassador.  "You have always taken great pains to remind me that that is what you are."

"Always?  I think you've got me at a disadvantage."

"You, Doctor?"  McCoy couldn't see him, but that damn eyebrow was probably up.  "Only if you choose to be."  The ambassador squeezed again, practically lifting McCoy off the ground and grinding their cocks together.  McCoy half whimpered, half moaned into his shoulder and just whimpered when the ambassador put him down and stepped away.

"The hell is your problem, you green blooded bastard?"  And apparently he'd left his manners and common sense behind on Earth.

The ambassador almost smiled.  "I require you to turn around and remove all of your clothing."

"You require?  Whatever happened to god damned please?"

The almost smile grew slightly bigger.  The ambassador stroked McCoy's cheek with one hand and cupped him with the other.  "Will this be sufficient?" he asked with two long, slow squeezes.

It was.  When McCoy turned back around, the ambassador--still fully dressed--effortlessly lifted him up with slick, gloved hands.  McCoy wrapped his legs around the ambassador's waist and clung to his arms as the ambassador spread him open and began to tease him with his fingertips.

"Relax, Doctor," the ambassador said in that quiet, warm voice that couldn't possibly come from somebody who used to be Spock.  He slid one finger in and out, and McCoy helplessly thrust against him.  The ambassador added a second finger and began to kiss him again.

He pulled out almost completely, then pushed both fingers in as deep as they would go.  McCoy squirmed against him, desperate for friction as the ambassador gently pressed and circled with his fingers and ran his other hand over McCoy's ass and the underside of his thigh.

McCoy argued with himself about whether or not he should warn the ambassador since it was obvious he'd done this before--and if you could really warn somebody about anything when you might not be able to make a coherent sentence.  And then his body decided for him, and he may have bitten the Vulcan's neck as his orgasm spilled onto his stomach and the ambassador's tunic.

"Honestly, Doctor," the ambassador murmured, "you can be most illogical."  He shifted his hold--even though he still wasn't showing any signs of fatigue or even effort--and nudged McCoy away from his burning neck and into a deep, possessive kiss as he added a third finger.

McCoy was starting to notice how rough the ambassador's tunic actually was, but the Vulcan fucked him with his hands, obviously savoring every thrust with those sensitive fingers.  McCoy's entire body felt oversensitive, but he was already starting to get hard again, and it was absolutely necessary that he kiss the ambassador until he could hardly breathe.

The ambassador made a deep, strange sound in the back of his throat.  "Unless you have some objections, Doctor, I intend to have penetrative intercourse with you."  His fingers were still inside McCoy, but they were completely (maddeningly) still.  His other hand was gripping him so tightly McCoy was sure he'd be left with five little bruises.

He just nodded.  He could've said something smart, but this was not the time to risk getting sidetracked.

Still holding him off the ground and spread open--and finally starting to finger fuck him again--the ambassador carried him to the bed.

"I would prefer to face you," the ambassador said.

McCoy wasn't sure he did, but then the ambassador was kissing his thigh as he lubed up his fingers again and slid them back in.  By the time the ambassador pulled off his gloves and started to slick up his cock, McCoy was ready to grab him by the shoulders and just drag him in.  He wasn't sure what stopped him, but it was more than just the hickeys being left on his inner thigh (and why did he even imagine he'd have the strength to move a Vulcan?)

The ambassador, only undressed just enough to get his cock out, moved McCoy where he wanted him and entered him without any hesitation, as if he already knew exactly how much McCoy could take and how fast.

The Vulcan's dick was as hot as his fingers and his mouth, and, even though he'd already come all over both of them, McCoy was impatient.  As he writhed under the ambassador, he completely forgot that the man on top of him and thrusting inside of him had been Spock at some point in his life, and he completely forgot what was left of his manners.

"I'm human, not porcelain," he snapped.

"So I've noticed, Doctor," the ambassador said as he stroked the inside of McCoy's thigh.  "I suggest you try the direct approach.  Or perhaps a colorful metaphor."

Even now, with his ass full of green blooded cock and his own dick trembling and slapping against his come-covered stomach, McCoy could not bring himself to tell a Vulcan ambassador (who was also sort of Spock) that he needed him to fuck him harder.  Hell, he didn't really want to tell himself that he needed a Vulcan ambassador to fuck him until he went from half-crazed to completely _gone_.

"If you're going to touch me, then touch me," he said.

"I am touching you," said the ambassador.

"Either wrap those erogenous zones you call fingers around my cock, or get your damn hands off me," McCoy snarled.

The ambassador flashed his teeth in an almost terrifying smile.  If there'd been a headboard, McCoy would've become very well acquainted with it as the Vulcan thrusted.  "Thank you, Doctor," he said in a tone that might as well have been a tongue on his McCoy's shaft.  "I was starting to wonder."

Before McCoy could really think about that (_Oh Jesus Christ I'm not as good as myself?_), the ambassador stroked him as hard as he fucked him.

He was wonderfully (painfully) close when dignity went off to join manners.  "Please," he said in a harsh whisper as he tried to fuck the ambassador's hand without screwing up the hard and slow thrusts that he absolutely needed more than anything else.  "Make me come, sweetheart."  He thought he saw the ambassador raise an eyebrow at that, but he was not going to call him by his title and he was absolutely not going to call him Spock, so what the hell was left?

The ambassador put a hand on his forehead.  At first McCoy thought he was brushing the hair out of his face (and holy shit, no matter what he claimed, this could never have been Spock), but then the Vulcan said, "Come," and McCoy's back arched and his hips practically spasmed as he was hit with the most intense orgasm of his life.

Distantly he could feel the ambassador come in him and go completely still before slowly pulling out, but that might as well have been in another universe.

When he remembered how to speak English, he asked, "What the hell did you just do?"

The ambassador gave him a half smile that seemed suspiciously indulgent as he pulled McCoy into his arms.  "Only what you wanted, Doctor."

McCoy realized that he was actually trembling, and he'd been crying without even noticing.  He put his arms around the ambassador's waist and leaned on his hot shoulder as he tried to catch his breath. "Would you have done that to him?" he asked.

"He prefers the 'old fashioned' approach," said the ambassador.  "I thought you should experience it at least once before you decided."

"That what you did to him?"

"It was his idea."

McCoy wasn't too surprised that whatever had just happened hadn't been between equals.  It was the fact that he apparently wasn't on equal footing with _himself_ that worried him. (And _his_ idea? Somewhere, in another dimension, he was actually willing to risk severe brain damage just to get off?)

"You are satisfied, Doctor?"

"Yes, Ambassador."

He'd just let himself be spread apart and fucked up and down by somebody he wasn't even on a first name basis with.  He'd not only consented, he'd god damned craved it--it never even occurred to him that he could've actually told a near-stranger (who looked like somebody he hated) not to hold him at whatever angle he liked and stretch him and fill him with whatever he felt like.  And as the ambassador's hand wandered back to his ass, McCoy knew he'd do it again.

In less than a week he was stretched naked across the ambassador's lap, while the ambassador spread his legs with one hand and fucked him with three fingers of the other.  He squirmed against the ambassador's hand and against his bare leg, and he did not care at all that he'd only gotten the Vulcan's pants off by basically pitching a fit (instead of just asking him to do it).

"I find you most interesting, Doctor," said the ambassador.

"Thank you, sir," McCoy said because it was still too early for "sweetheart" and too late for "ambassador."

The Vulcan pulled out and slapped his ass--not as hard as he could, but hard enough to take McCoy by surprise and make him buck against his leg.  "That doesn't sound like you, Doctor," he said.  "If you insist on avoiding my name, either 'darling' or 'sweetheart' will be acceptable."

The ambassador smacked him again, harder this time, and McCoy said, "All right, darlin."  _Have you really thought about this, Leonard?_ he asked himself as he started to grind against the ambassador's leg and waited to see if he'd get smacked for it.  _He's teaching you how to screw like a dead man.  Who's just you with a better life._

_Wait, why do you know his life's better?_

_Well, Leonard, I guess it's because you're the one bent over an old Vulcan pervert, waiting to see if you're going to get a whoopin._

McCoy couldn't really argue with himself on that.

"Doctor, I am going to continue to stimulate you in this position until you achieve orgasm," said the ambassador.  "What do you require?"

"Your fingers, darlin," McCoy said. 

"Is this sufficient, Doctor?"

"You know it's not, you pointed eared tease."

"As you may recall, Doctor, I did already recommend directness."

"Stupid hobgoblin," McCoy muttered.  "How hard is it to figure out I want you to fuck me with your fingers?"

"Slightly harder than it apparently is to say."  The ambassador moved one leg out and held him open so it was hard to rub against him.

"Now what're you waiting for?"

"Your specifications, Doctor."

"I don't care," McCoy said through clenched teeth.  "As many as you can fit."  He realized that might be a mistake as soon as he said it, but the ambassador seemed to decide that that was three.

"Is this what you wanted, Doctor?" the ambassador asked in a slightly patronizing tone.

McCoy was going to snap at him, but then the ambassador's fingers nudged him in just the right spot.  "Yes, darlin," he practically cooed.  "Thank you, darlin."  The ambassador had loosened his hold just enough so that McCoy could grind again.  "I'll do whatever you want, just please don't stop again."

"Fascinating," the ambassador said softly.

His nails dug into one of the ambassador's legs as he came against the other.  The ambassador kept working his fingers in and out even after McCoy felt his orgasm against his side.  "Sweetheart, I..."

"Doctor, I am sure you will be willing to compromise for me," said the ambassador.  "And it would be unfortunate if a human of your age was unable to match pace with a Vulcan of mine."

"Dammit," McCoy muttered, but he just pressed his face against the Vulcan's leg and tried not to think about how every inch of him was tingling. 

"I find I am most interesting in a particular region of your body, Doctor," said the ambassador, "and am considering bringing you to climax in the same manner as before."

"Like you actually want to know what I think?"

The ambassador took his fingers away, and McCoy wondered if he was going to be left hard and frustrated.  The Vulcan gently pushed him onto his back and, after several tantalizing flicks of his tongue, took McCoy's cock into his mouth.  Whenever he tried to reach for the ambassador or sit up, a hand lightly stopped him, and McCoy finally decided to just go with it, at least until the ambassador pinned his hips to the bed.  McCoy wasn't in the mood to be too frustrated, but he still strained against the Vulcan's hands and wondered if he did things like this on purpose.

_Of course he does this on purpose_ said the part of his brain that didn't know when to shut the hell up.

He was still held flat against the bed as the ambassador swallowed every last drop.  The Vulcan licked a corner of his mouth and raised an eyebrow at him.  "Will that be all, Doctor?"

The ambassador's eyes went from his, lingered a bit on his chest, and then skipped past his dick and went straight to his ass.  McCoy figured the answer to that was yes and no.

The Vulcan seemed like he'd be happy to fingerbang McCoy into the next century and, no matter how much he questioned it as soon as the ambassador pulled out, McCoy couldn't seem to keep his legs together as soon as the Vulcan got him alone.  He almost wished he could've suspected some sort of mind trick, but he knew the ambassador wasn't the type--(_And how exactly do you know this?_ he asked himself)--for whatever reason, McCoy had become completely willing to hand his ass over on his own. 

"I have decided to see what you are capable of," the ambassador said, and McCoy was happily (all right, slightly cynically, but not really objecting) on his knees.  He was pretty sure it'd be the fingers, and god damn, it felt good to be right.

The ambassador held him with one arm and went straight to massaging him with his fingers.  "I would like you to keep your hands where they are," the ambassador said before McCoy could even reach for himself.

He felt it building wonderfully, and it seemed too damn fast when his orgasm flowed out of him.  The ambassador pressed the index and middle finger of his other hand against McCoy's lips, then sat back to take off the glove.

He was fully dressed this time, but his hard on was almost scalding as it pressed against McCoy's ass.  McCoy pushed back against it as the ambassador stroked him.  The ambassador didn't push back, and he didn't say a word until McCoy came over his fingers.

"You are well, Doctor?"

"What do you think?" McCoy asked.

The ambassador pushed him flat on his stomach and carefully moved his legs apart, as if he was trying to remember just how far they'd go.  Once he reached that limit, he held him open with his knees at his thighs.  The gloved fingers slid back in, slick and startlingly cold at first.  The ambassador fingered him with as much just as much pleasure and skill as he usually did, but the ache wasn't entirely pleasant when McCoy came a third time.

The ambassador paused, but didn't remove his hand.  After a few more seconds, he curled his fingers and started to apply gentle, tentative pressure again.

"Stop."  The ambassador immediately did.  He moved away, but McCoy didn't feel him get out of bed.

As he lay on his stomach, McCoy was impressed with himself--he'd had no idea it was possible to feel used when you always came at least twice.

The ambassador stroked his neck with his bare index and middle fingers.  "You want me to leave."

"I don't know," said McCoy. 

"I would like to stay."

Unfortunately the sensible part of his brain had come back and decided this would be a good time to chime in.  _You're a fuck toy for a man old enough to be at least your great-grandfather and who you can't even hold a conversation with.  Congratulations, Leonard, you've managed to become even more of a fuck-up._

"Why?"

"Because I would like to," said the ambassador.

"No offense, Ambassador, but that doesn't sound very god damned logical."

The bed shifted as the Vulcan stood up.  "It is not."

McCoy didn't know if he wanted him to stay (because you weren't as much of a fuck toy if they stayed) or if he wanted him to leave and not come back.  If the ambassador had mentioned the other McCoy, he (probably) would've told the damn Vulcan to fuck off through the next black hole and leave him alone, but the ambassador undressed without speaking. He didn't say anything until he was lying next to him with two fingertips tracing McCoy's lower lip.

"Nor is it logical to worry about offending me," he said.

It wasn't logical or healthy. McCoy put his head on the ambassador's chest. His skin was incredibly warm, and there was already something incredibly familiar about lying in bed with him (even if he was a temporally displaced Vulcan ambassador who'd invented at least two kinds of time travel and decided he was going to stake a claim on McCoy's ass--and McCoy was going to keep arguing with himself about it right up until the moment one of both of those hands made the first tentative grope, and then he'd be begging for the horny old hobgoblin to spread him open--as wide as you want, Ambassador--and finger him. Jesus, he couldn't even beg for cock like all the other respectable boy toys.)

"Why?" he asked.

Somehow the ambassador seemed to get that he wasn't asking about offending him (because, oh god damn it all, Vulcans were touch-telepaths, weren't they?) "Doctor, I did not think that I would ever say this, but I have missed you."

As Ambassador Spock held him and McCoy listened to the silence where his heart wasn't, McCoy knew he'd end up right back here in another couple of days.


End file.
